


Promises to Keep

by Xparrot



Category: Smallville
Genre: Criminal Masterminds, Dark, Episode: s06e17 Promise, Meta, Meteorfreak!Lana, Missing Scene, Other, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-17
Updated: 2007-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/Xparrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Missing scenes for 6x17, "Promise".</i> Lex Luthor is used to desperation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises to Keep

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [As Moths](https://archiveofourown.org/works/81832) by [Xparrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/Xparrot). 



> Meta-fic for "Promise." The dialogue and action are all from the episode's script; the words in between are mine.
> 
> Dark; warnings for meteorfreak!Lana and mastermind!Lex. (Well, less warnings for the latter, more reassurances. He's sorely lacking in the show proper.)

He can't see Lionel, can't risk a look behind, but he can feel him all the same, the chill of his father's watching eyes. Lex keeps walking deeper into the crypt. He fakes a stumble once, not a full trip but enough to throw his footsteps off-tempo so that he can hear the second set pacing in time behind him. The tap of Lionel's soles on the stone floor is not very far behind him in the gloom.

Lex doesn't smile. Doesn't know if Lionel can see. He hadn't smiled in his office, either, knowing his father was outside the door, the old spider listening as he arranged this appointment, repeating confirmation aloud in a clumsy show of nerves. An open invitation, and of course Lionel took it.

Dr. Langston is waiting for him at the back of the crypt, issuing his blackmail demands with casual confidence. "Consider it hazard pay," he says, as if he's expecting Lex to be surprised. As if Lex had never done a background check, had hired him without complete awareness of his corruption. A man so deficit in ethics would never limit his activities to one field.

Lex parrots concern for Lana, the same urgent queries he's been repeating to the physician for months. Presenting a sad, conflicted figure of a man, and the doctor is sneering, and behind him Lex can feel Lionel's lip curling in disgust.

"And today's the day you hold the most leverage," Lex concludes. He was expecting the doctor's call anytime yesterday or today, but now that he's here he hardly can believe it's going this well. That Lionel would make this morning's offer, that he was hoping for; but for Langston to make his move at just that moment, in his father's hearing, that's a happy coincidence indeed. One he couldn't hesitate to take advantage of; he's pushing fortune too hard already.

The doctor hands him the card, and then Lex puts a hand on his shoulder as he passes. "I don't give in to blackmail," he says, and if there was a point of no return, he's just passed it.

He brought a gun, of course, and the crypt's walls are thick enough that the silencer wouldn't be overheard. But Lionel is watching. "No man sinks as low as you have if he isn't driven by desperation," Langston says.

The good doctor has no idea. Could never understand; he's as small as Lionel, as unable to see beyond his own trivial, personal manipulations. Lionel happily spends his days pulling the strings nearby him, directing the flow of traffic on the toy street right under his nose. He'll never look up and see the storm clouds overhead. Can't smell the electric danger in the air.

Langston's not even that big. Two million dollars. A two million dollar price tag on the world, but he can't see it. He's only just aware enough to grasp the idea of obsession, to relate Lex's desire to his own experiences of lust; he never even considered that Lex's need for a woman—a very special, uniquely gifted woman—might extend far beyond personal desire. Anymore than Lionel ever could guess it.

"Knowing what you've done to her, I wouldn't recommend putting her love to the test," says the doctor, and he has no idea. Cannot conceive of what tests Lex has already put that love to, how many more he has planned.

But it's a low blow, the perfect opening. Lex throws the first punch wildly, the next fast and more sure. Langston doesn't fight back; Lex doesn't give him a chance. Doesn't give himself a chance.

There's white rage at the edge of his vision, aimless and pulsing; irritably Lex pushes it back. Langston is hanging in his grasp as he pounds him again and again, methodically. Listening to the blows echoing off the stone walls, the meaty thrashing impacts. _Do you like what you hear, Dad?_

His knuckles are bloody and aching and Lex thinks of Clark, of Clark swaying back from his punch, straightening with his lip bloodied. That red blood had been a lie, a trick, but Langston's blood is real.

Then Langston's face is Duncan's, trick of the shadows, lies in the darkness, but Lex almost screams. Chokes it back instead and it's only the doctor, petty broken worthless man, dangling limp from his hand. His gasps are wheezing and unsteady but he's still alive, and maybe this display is enough.

Lines will be crossed, but Lex doesn't have to rush across them. This is a race, no one knows that better than him, the invisible clock counting down above all their heads. But he's nowhere near the finish line and he'll need to save something for the final stretch.

His father still will be watching now. "I won't let you take her away from me!" Lex remembers to say, spitting passion for his audience's benefit, as he considers the situation with his fist drawn back. Langston's eyes are glazed, half-conscious and terrified. How weak is this man? Enough to run scared and not look back, or will he press the matter? Either way, the gun would be cleaner. And his hand is hurting. The barked knuckles will be swollen when the ring is slipped over them in the next hour, another punch and the bruises might show...

His fingers on Langston's collar slip open, and the doctor is falling—reaching out blindly, and Lex sees the tomb behind him too late. Or maybe he had seen it already. Lionel is watching, and Lex doesn't move. The crack of the man's head splitting on the carved stone reverberates through the tunnel, louder than the thumps of fist on flesh. In the gloom the blood pooling around his head is thick and inky.

He leverages the ornamental cross against the wall to slide open the vault's heavy stone lid. Adrenaline is blazing in his veins and Langston's body isn't that heavy. The blood looks black on his hands, but it will be red in the light.

He wonders, as he has before, if Clark's real blood is this same bright, human red, or some other hue. Blue, or yellow.

He doesn't bother to cleanly close the tomb's lid. Lionel can take care of the details of disposal. Lex has a wedding to attend.

 

* * *

Lex hates to admit it, but he suffered a moment of doubt, waiting at the altar. He should have had more faith in his father's manipulations. Especially when they were handed to him on a silver platter. Lex had taken too much care to assure that Lionel saw the footage of Clark's performance in the wine cellar for the old spider to have wasted the opportunity. He wouldn't even have done it to spare Lex the embarrassment of being stood up at the altar; he would have done it just because he could. Lionel enjoys his games too much, pushing his little cars down his narrow little streets.

Lana proceeds forward, a vision in white and barely concealed martyr's pain, and Lex swallows. He has taken precautions, of course. The drug's side-effects will impede the chance of him officially consummating this marriage tonight, but it's necessary if he's going to be with her in public. He's under too much stress and he can't risk a possible loss of control in front of this many people.

And even with the chemicals in him muting any emotional response, he still feels the pressure of her approach, the unnatural warping of sensation and sentiment. Every eye in the chapel is on the bride, and he wonders if they realize that they couldn't look away if they wanted to. The endorphin spike just from gazing upon her will keep them riveted. When her emotions are running high, the effect is correspondingly stronger. It's an imperfect defense mechanism; the more frightened she is of a stalker, the more intense their obsession becomes. But now she burns like a candle, white and golden flame, irresistibly beautiful.

If only this were unnecessary. If she were anything else he would have secreted her safely away in 33.1 the moment he figured it out, but people would notice Lana Lang's disappearance, would panic from the emotional and psychological withdrawal, and he would be the first one accused. This manipulated bondage is the optimal solution at present.

"Driven by desperation," Langston had said. The man's corpse is likely entombed under their feet now—doubtful that even Lionel could have managed to get rid of it while the guests were arriving—but his words ring still in Lex's ears, the way the truth always resonates.

Lex is used to desperation. He's been riding its heart-pounding surge for over a year and a half now. When he sleeps, he dreams of black ships and scorched earth; he dreams of billions screaming and babies crying. He dreams of failing.

This morning he dreamed of the baby, and awoke with the taste of his own lies choking him, ashes on his tongue.

This afternoon, he murdered a man, as his father watched and didn't see a damn thing real.

Lex is used to desperation. And he needs Lana Lang, more than Dr. Langston or Lionel could ever, ever conceive. The world needs Lana Lang. Needs what she can do, without even realizing it, that unconscious and sublimely effective manipulation.

"Do you, Alexander Luthor, take Lana Lang to be your wife in the holy state of matrimony..." the priest intones, and Lex can feel his father's eyes on his back. Watching him instead of Lana. Lionel doesn't have nearly as complete access to 33.1's research as he believes. But he is canny, wary without even consciously knowing why. He doesn't spend much time with Lana, despite Lex's efforts; he doesn't look at her if he can help it. But now that she'll be a daughter-in-law, that might change.

Lionel thinks Lex is pathetic, falling for her charms. Lionel will slap him later for botching a killing so badly, and will gloat that he's won, even as he despairs at his son's failure. Lionel understands nothing, and it's safer that way. He needs the old spider's skills for now, and the easiest way to control his father is to let his father believe he's in control.

"I do," Lex says, and accepts the ring.

"Do you, Lana Lang," the priest continues, "take Alexander Luthor..."

He knows, without looking, that Clark Kent is here. He'll have just arrived, from who knows where—anywhere on the planet, wherever he was sulking, or waiting, depending on when he realized Lana wasn't coming running to his arms after all—but he has to be here now. He'll be watching from the back. He won't be able to look away.

The priest finishes. Lana's eyes flick to the side and Lex knows who she's looking at. Meeting his eyes. Then she looks back at Lex, brave pain luminescent in her eyes, and Lex is rendered almost breathless from the pressure of that gaze upon him, the unarticulated demands of her mutant projected empathy.

He thinks of Clark, watching in the back, enthralled by that bright gaze, even deeper than any human. For all his strengths, his vulnerabilities are as great. Even Zod was not immune to this pull, else she wouldn't have survived.

He thinks of Clark, and Lex smiles. He's winning, and Clark doesn't know that it's not just this petty battle, but maybe the war. Clark and his race are strong. But Lex's people can be stronger. Lana is proof.

They will need this, if they are to survive. Lex's people, and Lana's; Lionel's and the murdered Langston's: all the billions of human beings on Earth, normal and mutant alike. For this, he needs Lana Lang; he will possess her, and control her, and study her; he will rip her secrets from her bones and blood, if necessary.

"I do," Lana says, and accepts his ring, accepts the bonds of that necessity.

A sacrifice, unknowing, unaware; but a sacrifice as courageous and noble as any soldier fighting for her people, her nation, her world. The surge of emotion in him is not artificially evoked. It's a victory that tastes of ashes; it's a pain so sharply piercing it's ecstasy. "_I love you,_" he whispers to her, without voice or breath, and he's never meant it so truly.

**Author's Note:**

> (While not initially intended as such, it's been pointed out that "As Moths" can function as a sequel.)


End file.
